Frank retired to his own cabin and was soon asleep. At ten o'clock, no word having been received, Jack put down his book and rose.
"Frank may be right," he told himself. "At all events, I may as well turn in. My remaining up won't alter the facts, whatever they are."
He undressed, extinguished the light in his cabin and climbed into bed.
Aboard practically every ship in the fleet, almost the same scenes were enacted that night. Officers and men alike remained up for hours, awaiting possible word that the armistice had been signed. But at midnight no word had been received, and while the big ships moved about their patrol work, the men slept—those of them who had no duties to perform at that hour. Only the officers and members of the crew watch, and the night radio operators, remained awake.
To Jack it seemed that he had just closed his eyes when he was aroused by the sound of the Essex's signal whistle. It screeched and screeched. Jack leaped from his bunk and scrambled into his clothes.
"Something wrong," he muttered. "Wonder why they didn't call me?"
He hurried on deck.
Frank, in his cabin, also had been aroused by the noise. He, too, sprang into his clothes and hurried on deck.
There the first thing that his eyes encountered was a circle of figures, with hands joined, dancing about the bridge and yelling at the top of their voices. Among them was Jack, who, for the moment, seemed to have forgotten the dignity that went with his command. Also, the shrill signal whistle continued to give long, sharp blasts. Frank looked at Jack in pure amazement.
"Must have gone crazy," he muttered.